


Looking for Love (in Alderaan Places)

by flailingthroughsanity



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Companionable Snark, Humor, M/M, Mild Language, Star Wars References, The nth coffeeshop au nobody asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 06:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17441855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flailingthroughsanity/pseuds/flailingthroughsanity
Summary: Keith is a deadbeat barista and an out-and-proud Star Wars nerd. Shiro is a hot customer. There are ridiculously specific coffee orders, swooning and awkward flirting.Lance, as always, is not amused.





	Looking for Love (in Alderaan Places)

**Author's Note:**

> God, this is just. Nothing substantial, at all. I got home after a long day at work and wanted to write something short and fluffy and totally not a self-insert (cough Keith cough). Also, I promised myself to practice writing short fics, so I hope y'all enjoy this!
> 
> (is this a drabble? i feel like it is lol)  
> (also, i do a better job making people cry instead of laugh so)

Contrary to popular belief, Keith wasn’t always a deadbeat barista (Lance snorts).   
  
He was once a member of a dance group, working as a back-up dancer for pop singers. Yes, he wasn’t always this hopeless loser living off his roommate-slash-boss’ couch and working at his café just to get by. He used to dance for idols like Allur-A (damn, did that girl put on a show) or for groups like B.O.M (mainly because Ulaz was kind of cute) and he went on tours and concerts and he lived the high life, meeting celebrities and performing in front of the crowd.   
  
Well, that was before he tore a leg muscle during a back-to-back concert, persisted anyway and ended up damaging his leg so much that he now walks with a limp for the rest of his life.   
  
Unfortunately, that meant the end of his career and an end to what he loved doing so much, and well, Keith was in a deep funk for a year — wasting what’s left of his money on cigarettes and alcohol to numb the pain (and he honestly thought he was past this phase back in highschool) — and it was Lance, who was a friend back from before, that kicked him off his ass and get a move on with his life.   
  
Fast-forward two years, he’s here at Lance’s café, working as a barista and even though he gives Lance crap and calls his shop stupid, Keith’s pretty happy to be here.   
  
Until he came in.   
  


* * *

GALAX-TEA is a little café on the edge of the academic boulevard, sitting next to two universities and countless coffee-shops for the normal collegiate surviving on caffeine and desperation. Like every little shop not owned by Starbucks, GALAX-TEA’s audience consists mainly of hipster art majors deigning to break away from the social anonymity and settling themselves as the true connoisseurs of the liberal beauties. Keith rolls his eyes at this and decides to add whole milk to their elitist “non-fat, low sugar, caramel mocha cappuccino motherfucker” orders and he snickers to himself at the back when he overhears some of them exclaiming at why their drinks taste so good today. As usual, Lance disapproves of Keith’s abject distaste for pretense and hipsterdom by throwing wet towels at him.   
  
It comes as no surprise then, when he comes in, with hair that looks like it’s natural color, wearing a black coat and a polite smile (unlike the feigned nonchalance of the Nietzsche-carrying idiots) that Keith takes notice of him, standing out amidst the pretension (Lance sighs, doesn’t care. It’s good for business, anyway).   
  
When Keith first sees the tall stranger dressed in black enter the café, his stomach does a twirl and he kind of spills the caramel macchiato he was making down his apron. He (masculine-ly) shouts in surprise, stepping back as the puddle spreads past his sneakers.   
  
Lance looks over from the cash register, tells him he’s an idiot and orders him to clean it up.   
  
Keith glares back at him but walks to the storage area to grab the mop anyway because as much as he wants to throw his apron in Lance’s face, he is kind of broke and kind of in need of a job. So, he bites his tongue and imagines kicking Lance in his mind before returning to clean up the mess.   
  
The puddle hasn’t spread too far, and it wasn’t really bad. A few swipes with the mop, and the tiled floor was good as new. Or as new as GALAX-TEA’s floors can be.   
  
“Hi, welcome to GALAX-TEA. What can I get you?” Lance’s voice travels to the storage room, and hearing the owner-slash-roomate-slash-boss mention the name of his café was enough for Keith to roll his eyes and bite in a snicker.   
  
Which was funny considering that he was working for Lance, and he had no right to laugh at the place keeping the food on his (their) table and the (Lance’s) roof over his head. Still, as far as bad names go, GALAX-TEA was somewhere on that list.   
  
Walking back to the counter, Keith eyes the stranger and, yeah.   
  
Gorgeous? Check.   
  
Tall? Double check.   
  
Ass?   
  
Keith tiptoes, ignores the funny feeling in his right leg, leans over the counter and takes in Mr. Gorgeous’ ass covered in really snug black jeans. He watches as Mr. Gorgeous shift his weight from one foot to the other, straining the cloth by his hips. Keith dies at the sight.   
  
Triple  _ check. _   
  
Lance glares at him in disgust.   
  


* * *

  
Finally finished preparing the iced Americano, Keith leans over the counter and calls for one “Shiro” and he sorts of gulps, sorts of whimpers (no, he did not) when it’s Mr. Gorgeous who stands.   
  
Keith watches Shiro walk, and he takes in the mop of dark hair down to the almond taupe eyes, to the sharp nose and thin lips to a delectable looking throat disappearing into the black coat he was wearing. He was tall...and  _ big.  _ He didn’t look overly-muscled, but he filled out the sleeves of the coat really well. The way the dark hair fell against his forehead was rebellious, wind-swept and haphazard. He looked like a fucking  _ meal.  _   
  
Keith decides that it was Shiro’s eyes that, although uniquely-colored and hypnotizing in itself, did him, scrunched as they were in a smile as he reaches the counter to get his drink.   
  
Keith wants to say something cool and swoon-worthy and totally suave.   
  
He ends up blurting, “Are you an angel?”   
  
Shiro blinks. Keith blinks.   
  
Lance cackles from behind the pastry display.   
  
“Uh…” Shiro says hesitatingly, the smile on his lips turning a little nervous.   
  
Keith feels like hitting his head against the counter. It wasn’t like he meant to say it, okay? He sort of has a thing for Star Wars (“Thing? Keith, you’re obsessed with it!” “No, I’m not, shut up.”) and it was that particular line that somehow seemed like it was the right thing to say (I mean, come on, a ten-year old kid managed to snag a space queen with that line!) and okay, okay he was mortified beyond belief and he would really like to hit his head against the counter now, so please, Shiro go awa—   
  
“Last time I checked, I didn’t live on Iego’s moons,” Shiro continues, a grin on his face and Keith dies again, “but thank you, anyway.”   
  
Shiro turns away, still grinning and returns to his seat across the café. Keith stares at his retreating figure and Shiro’s words echo in his head.   
  
Keith feels a wide smile forming on his lips.   
  
Lance throws a wet towel at his face.   
  


* * *

  
“He knows Star Wars. He knows Star Wars!” Keith whispers to Lance, who was both putting more blueberry cheesecake on to the display and side-eying Keith in irritation.   
  
“So? I know Star Wars, too.”   
  
Keith rolls his eyes. “Pfft, you’re an amateur. You once called the Millennium Falcon the USS Enterprise. I have never been so ashamed of our friendship.”   
  
Lance batts his hands away and walks past him, Keith follows. “But, regardless of your failure to differentiate the beauty that is Star Wars and the crap that is Star Trek, I will still lower myself to converse with you.”   
  
“Gee, I’m so honoured.”   
  
“You should be.”   
  
Lance glares at him, unamused. He turns to look at Keith, who resumed in his subtle-but-not-really-subtle gazing over Shiro’s form (in appreciation, of course), the fairness of his features a stark contrast to the inky black of his clothes, the way he sat with one leg over the other, the material stretching over his thighs ( _ meow _ ) as he continues to type on his laptop.   
  
“If you don’t stop creeping on him, I’m gonna call the police.” Lance says, shutting the sliding door of the pastry display. Keith turns to him, askance.   
  
“I wasn’t creeping on him!” Lance raises a brow.   
  
“I wasn’t, okay?”   
  
“Then, what the hell were you doing just now?”   
  
Keith crosses his arms across his chest. “An…ocular inspection.”   
  
Yes, that was it. It was just a mere observation of a subject, and if it turns out that he’s somewhat appreciative of the subject’s physical features, then that wasn’t Keith’s fault. It was Shiro’s fault for being drop-dead gorgeous, with an ass ready to be manhandled four weeks to December and— _ ahem _ .   
  
Lance doesn’t look convinced. He looks rather disgusted. He even says so himself.   
  
He’s about to counter with his tried-and-tested Keith Kogane sass when the sound of someone clearing their throat grabs Keith’s attention, and it’s Shiro with a small smile and a cheery glint in his eyes.   
  
Keith dies again.   
  
“Hey, can I help you with anything?”  _ Like taking off your clothes or putting that mouth to good use or _ — Keith bites his lips, feeling the tips of his ears burn at the direction his thoughts were going. Lance makes a long-suffering sigh at his perch by the cash register.   
  
Shiro grins, ducking his head and a dimple appears and Keith dies a third death that day. “Can I have a cup of milk?”   
  
_ You can have my mil _ —Concentrate, Keith.   
  
He blinks, nodding. “Sure, just gimme a sec. Was the drink too strong?”   
  
Shiro shakes his head, which is really adorable, considering the way his eyes are wide and he looks like some kid who was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. A very large kid with arms that could hold Keith down while ramming his—well, digressing. Keith refuses to die a fourth time, bending down a bit to grab one of the paper cups in the cupboard. “No, it was good. I usually have a cup of milk after, so…yeah.”   
  
Keith hums, nodding. “Fat or non-fat? Please tell me you’re a fat and not like those hipsters there who want half-and-half heated at a forty-five degree angle with an ounce of gluten-free soy milk.”   
  
Mr. Gorgeous lets out a little chuckle at that, side-eyeing the group of students with mutli-colored hair and he chuckles again. “Fat is good. And, no, I’m not a student. I’m an instructor, actually.”   
  
Finished pouring the milk into the cup, Keith internally dances at the new information and files it in his head for further studying tonight (aka daydreaming) and he hands the cup over the counter to Shiro. “That’s cool. What do you teach?”   
  
Shiro grabs the cup and sips at it a bit and okay, okay, there is a line of froth over his lips and Keith will not act like he’s in a cheesy, pop music video and wipe the froth with his thumb or kiss it away while some stupid idol song is in the background, singing about finally having a boy and bringing it back to one-forty or something.   
  
He will not.   
  
He ends up staring, anyway, and his heart flutters at the way those lips smile a crooked smile and Shiro replies, “Film. I teach a few majors.”   
  
Which is really hot, now that Keith thinks about it because not only is Mr. Gorgeous privy to the intimate details of Star Wars, he’s also into filmography and wow, wow, that is just so—ahem.   
  
“Cool, cool.” Somewhere in the back, Lance laughs and it’s like devil music is playing in the background. It also sounds a bit like the Bee Gees.   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
It grows silent, and Keith alternates between wiping the counter and looking anywhere but at the froth on Shiro’s lips and he really wants to dispel the tension and film instructor is just standing there, sipping his milk and he’s staring at Keith and everything is starting to feel like some soft pornography premise and Keith isn’t usually against that and he’d gladly like to screw Shiro (or be screwed, because he thirsty) but he also kinds of want to take him on a date and debate on the integrity of the transition of Star Wars’ Expanded Universe to non-canon and all in all, it’s just very mind-boggling for a deadbeat barista.   
  
Shiro finishes his milk and sets it on the counter. “Thanks. I guess I’ll head out, yeah?”   
  
Keith takes it and he nods at Shiro, managing to hold back a lovestruck grin. ”Yeah, yeah. Sure. Thanks, too.”   
  
Shiro smiles and the goddamn froth is still there on his lips and he turns to leave and Keith finally manages to breathe. Thank fucking God. If Shiro had stayed any longer, he would have done something embarrassing like ask for his number.   
  
“God, you are such a creep. I was actually having second thoughts about our friendship.” Lance says, finally returning to the reception area and Keith realizes he still as Shiro’s cup in his hand.   
  
He throws it at Lance.   
  


* * *

Later that night, Keith’s bent over his laptop and he’s searching Facebook for one “Shiro” and although there’s like a hundred people named “Shiro” and ten-thousand more in Hiragana, he perseveres.   
  
His phone beeps and he opens the e-mail.   
  
It’s from Lance, and it’s a paid subscription to a TV show called  _ Stalker. _   
  
Keith retaliates by blasting Fleetwood Mac and Pink Floyd at full volume, all night long.   
  


* * *

The café is packed the next few days, with midterms coming up soon and GALAX-TEA is slowly being overridden with their usual hipster crowd, plus the surprising amount of normal people in desperate need of caffeine and maybe a one-hour session with a counselor. In fact, the café is so busy that Lance doesn’t even bother sassing back at him when Keith gets grumpy, focusing more on the taking orders and manning the cash register. Some of the customers are bitchier than what Keith’s accustomed to, and he’s taken to ousting his anger by dumping more sugar than is healthy into their overly-specific customized drinks. Lance doesn’t even bother anymore with his antics.   
  
“Just…deal with it, okay? We still have the rush hour at lunch.” Lance says, pulling a kerchief from his jeans and wiping the sweat off his forehead with it. Keith hides a groan behind the box of coffee beans in his hand.   
  
If the morning rush was hell itself, Satan was having his grand entrance during lunch. Not only were people cranky, rushing and desperate for their coffee fix, there was also a rush of students from the university next door plus, for some odd reason, their pastries were a crowd favorite. After thirty minutes of haggling drinks with outrageous demands (who the hell wants  _ piping  _ hot chai tea latte with coffee jelly?), heating pastries and cleaning up after the idiot who couldn’t watch where he was going, Keith was ready to call it a day.   
  
“I think I died. Yeah, I just died. On that puddle of caramel macchiato.” Keith groans, and his back is hurting something awful, his leg was acting up and he’s pretty sure he burnt his fingers when he was hurrying the coffee machine.   
  
Lance had taken to wiping the counter, for once feeling sorry for his friend, and harrumphed.   
  
“You can’t die right now, we still have rest of the week. Die when you’ve moved out of my apartment and paid your rent.”   
  
Keith flops and gives Lance the finger.   
  
The sound of the doors opening has Keith groaning again, letting his head rest against the cabinet door under the counter. Lance kicks him in the ribs.   
  
“What the fuck?” Keith gasps, holding his side.   
  
Lance eyes him, whispers harshly. “Get up, your favorite customer just came in.”   
  
“What!”   
  
Maybe, in retrospect, he shouldn’t have stood too fast and end up hitting his head against the counter (he kinda forgot it juts out a bit). He sees stars, hand on his head as he grits his teeth at the shock of pain. When his vision clears out, and the sharp pain dulls, Shiro’s concerned face greets him.   
  
He’s also pretty sure some of the stars are still shining in the background. The fucking Andromeda constellation was flashing in Shiro’s eyes, after all.

  
What the fuck, Keith.   
  
Still rubbing the crown of his head, he grins, although it would probably look like a grimace. It was the thought that counted. “Hi.”   
  
Shiro smiles like he’s holding his laughter in. “Hi.” Then he goes quiet.   
  
And Keith is quiet.   
  
It’s awkward.   
  
So aw—kward.   
  
“While I do love to watch the sexual tension develop between the two of you, can I take your order?” Lance cuts in, Shiro flushes a delectable red and Keith’s soul leaves the building.   
  
“Oh!” Keith shouts, and half the patrons inside the café turn to look at him. “Ha-ha! Lance’s funny! He’s really funny, that funny you know? Yeah, he’s such a clown!”   
  
Then continues to smile at Shiro’s flushed face as he side-kicks Lance with his other leg. The owner promptly squawks and falls into a pile on the floor.   
  
“Oh…um, okay.” Shiro continues, smiling a little although the tips of his ears are still red.   
  
Soooooo red. Like Keith’s been biting on them—   
  
Nope, back to business.   
  
“So, uh, what will it be?” Keith asks, still mortified (and still committed to dyeing all of Lance’s underwear pink, roof over his head be damned).

(Though, now that he thought about Lance’s questionable fashion sense, pink wouldn’t even be a punishment. Yellow it is!).   
  
“One tall iced Americano, and one slice of cheesecake.” Keith nods, smiling and quickly turns to Lance, who was slowly climbing back up to his feet and hisses, “get on it, you fucker.”   
  
Lance gives him a dirty look. “I am locking you out of the apartment tonight.”   
  
“Please, you would die on that staircase without me helping you.”   
  
A cough and it’s Keith’s turn to flush, remembering Shiro was still there. “Oh, sorry, Shiro. My boss was being a jerk.”   
  
A nervous laugh. Shiro looks a little uncomfortable. “It’s no problem. Your boss…who lives with you?”   
  
Oh.   
  
_ Oh. _   
  
Keith stammers. “No! I mean, uh, it’s nothing, like — pfft, him?! I would never —“   
  
Lance pushes into his side, grinning widely at Keith and the barista doesn’t like the evil glint in the rat-masquerading-as-a-person’s eyes. “No, we’re roommates. Both single.  _ Quelle surprise _ ! Oh, and that’ll be four dollars. You got it, Keith?”   
  
Keith has, more or less, frozen over as Shiro hands the cash to Lance. He gets his change and sends a small smile Keith’s way and the barista manages, somehow, to smile back — then turns to get the espresso. “I hate you.”   
  
Lance snorts. “Please, you would never be able to make a move on him if it weren’t for me.”   
  
“How dare you! I’d like to tell you that I am a very appealing, smooth, charismatic—“   
  
“He’s back.”   
  
Keith jumps and turns around, seeing only an empty counter and Shiro sitting on a table by the window, typing on his phone. Lance snorts again. “Nailed it.”   
  
Keith glares at him. “I hate you and I hope you die a horrible death and I hope I’ll live long enough to watch it. Twice.”   
  
“Sure, keep saying that, but don’t deny it — if it weren’t for me, he wouldn’t even know your name by now.”   
  
Keith rolls his eyes as he pours the espresso into the plastic cup. “And whose bright idea was it not to have us wear name tags?”   
  
“What is this — a Starbucks? Like the one in the corner…and in the other corner…and in that other corner?”   
  
Keith smirks. “Or the one being built in Shiro’s ass?”   
  
Lance’s mouth drops open, and gives him a look like Keith was crazy.   
  
“What? It’s prime real estate.”   
  
“Just finish that, please, so I can have this conversation over.”   
  
Taking small victories, Keith shuts up and finishes the order. He calls Shiro’s name and ogles as said man stops writing on his notebook, stands from his seat, his black coat billowing behind like some goddamn Chanel commercial and yeah, wow, he really has the nicest face ever.   
  
Those eyes.   
  
That nose.   
  
Them lips.   
  
He's pretty sure he's heard that in a song before.   
  
“Hey.” Shiro says, grinning. His lips are red, like he’s been biting them. This sucks, Keith thinks.   
  
Well, speaking of suck, it’s not like you don’t want to suck his—   
  
“Hi. Got your fix right here.”   
  
Shiro’s lips bloom into a crooked smile. “Oh, you got my fix?”   
  
Keith blushes — why the hell did that sound like an innuendo. “Um…yeah?”   
  
“Hope it’s the fix I’m looking for.” A teasing grin. Keith’s brain hits a ping at the line.   
  
Grinning, Keith replies. “Oh, the Force is strong in this one.”   
  
“Oh my  _ God _ .” Lance mutters from the side.   
  
Shiro laughs, and steps closer. His cologne hits Keith, and it’s delicious. The right amount of subtle and manly, the mixture bludgeoning his senses so tantalizingly good — cedar, he believes. Fuck, cedar does things to him. It’s honestly distracting, paired with Shiro’s deadly smile and the way his eyes grew hooded and his hair, impeccably brushed back today, and how his voice had gotten so deep — it’s still a little surprising how his pants aren’t off yet.   
  
“You tell me, then, Jedi.” Shiro answers, a hand circling the cup of iced Americano.   
  
The cup of iced Americano that Keith was still holding.   
  
Shiro’s hand was fucking around his hand.   
  
Keith’s eyes are wide, and Shiro is close. He’s practically leaning into Keith’s space (he he no pun intended, his brain helpfully supplies) over the counter. Keith flails internally.   
  
Shiro’s smile widens into a full-blown grin, and oh my god his teeth are so white and perfect and oh Jesus and  _ Jesús _ his lower lip is jutting out and Keith just wants to sink his teeth into them so, so bad. He gulps.   
  
“What’s the matter, Jedi? Unlike Han, I won’t shoot first, you know.”   
  
Oh dear. Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. The image in his head is not helping at all. As well as the voice that is currently accompanying it, nastily cheeky and goddamn he does not need to think about what kind of blaster Shiro has in his pants.   
  
On his pants.   
  
“Uh…”   
  
The doors open and a gaggle of students pile in, loud and boisterous and it breaks the bubble the two are in. Keith jumps and lets go of the cup and he’s laughing, a little uncomfortably, and rambles. “Well, uh, hope you enjoy — um, that! Ha-ha, have a nice night! Day, I mean — day!”   
  
He shuts his mouth and raises a hand, slightly waves at Shiro. Who was grinning, although he did seem a little put out that they got disturbed (do not go there, Keith). Shiro waves back at him and turns to go back to his seat, Americano in his hand.   
  
Keith takes a minute to breathe, fan his face and think of Lance in skimpy underwear to kill the boner he was sporting. Because of one fucking Shiro.   
  
He looks over at Lance. Lance rolls his eyes. “Why did I even bother going to work with you?”   
  
For once, Keith agrees with Lance there, but doesn’t want to give the older man the satisfaction of his agreement so he half-heartedly gives him the finger. Grabbing the rag from inside his apron, Keith starts wiping the counter clean as Lance starts grinning at the pretty girl by the pastry display.   
  
There’s a piece of paper and Keith grabs it with his free hand, wiping the space under it clean. He spies writing on it and opens it completely.   
  
_ Did it hurt…when you fell from Cloud City? – Shiro  _   
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
It’s dark, and cramped but Keith doesn’t mind. He can hear Shiro giggling and actually, Keith also finds it a little funny, now that he thought about it. However, laughing about their predicament isn’t exactly the reason he came in here.  
  
“C’mere,” he says and, even in the dark, Keith’s hands find Shiro’ face and he pulls it in, takes in the film instructor’s lips and Shiro’s hands are gripping his waist tightly. It’s a little awkward, with how tall Shiro is but Keith doesn’t really mind, not when Shiro pushes himself closer to him and yes, there it is. Shiro’s thigh comes in contact with his groin and god, does that feel good. Keith pushes back and his hand travels from Shiro’s face, down to his shoulders, his arms — all the way down his back and when Keith starts feeling the rough denim of Shiro’s dark jeans, he grins into the kiss as he grabs Shiro’s ass and squeezes.  
  
Shiro tenses and breaks away, groaning a quiet “oh, fuck.”  
  
Keith wants to hear Shiro sound that desperate again, so he latches his mouth against the other’s neck and he slowly pushes Shiro back — well, as much as he can in the really tight, really cramped space — and when his own thigh starts rubbing against Shiro’s crotch, well, let’s just say that Shiro’s gasp can be heard all the way from New Altea to Coruscant.  
  
“How—on, fuck—“  
  
“Is that a lightsaber in your pocket…or are you just happy to see me?” Keith says, when he breaks away from sucking a bruise into Shiro’s neck. The instructor snorts and starts laughing.  
  
“Seriously? Of all the lightsaber puns, you go for that? Nice way to kill the mood, Jedi.”  
  
“Shut up, you love it. And it’s not like you’re any better. You’re the _Obi-wan_ for me. Pffft.”  
  
“That was a genuinely intelligent, incredibly witty—“  
  
The pantry door suddenly opens and light floods in. Both Keith and Shiro squint, and when the flash of light dims, Lance is standing in front of them, looking extremely unamused.  
  
“The two of you realize that I will have to burn this place down now?”  
  
Lance looks down and sees the tent in Keith’s pants. “Please tell me that is not fucking what I think it is.”  
  
Keith smiles as innocently as he can. “It’s…a lightsaber?”

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/spaceboykenny) and on [Tumblr](https://spaceboykenny.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
